


If you're going to f*ck your Captain...

by AaliyahManira



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Columbus Blue Jackets, D/s, Hockey, M/M, Pittsburgh Penguins, Punishment, Reward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 22:09:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14318181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AaliyahManira/pseuds/AaliyahManira
Summary: Brandon gets chirped and rolls with it. Then it goes too far and chaos ensues. Then he comes back and wins them the game in OT. Tortorella isn't happy about the fight but the goal is too pretty not to appreciate.A gift for Marina, who wanted Brandon Dubinsky/John Tortorella, a little D/s, and a little mention of their Rangers history.#Becauseitsthecup I added a little Penguins love/hate. I added Cam Atkinson and his pretty face purely for my own enjoyment.





	If you're going to f*ck your Captain...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [M10_l10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/M10_l10/gifts).



> If you're going to play, do your research and remember your safety is important. If you forget, it might just be the most embarrassing ER trip you have ever had to make.  
> This game really happened (albeit minus the homophobic slurs and knock-down-drag-out fight) in March of 17 at Nationwide Arena in Columbus. Dubinsky's OT winner really was beautiful and he really did use Cam as a screen to get it in. I was there, it was great.

Brandon is ridiculous. It’s not that it’s surprising, really. Anymore, it’s an expectation. The team warns the rookies, tells them to be prepared. They learn on day one that they should always—always—run Dubinsky-related shenanigans past a vet before participating. They say it’s to prevent injury and getting suspended/arrested.

Cam swears that their overreacting when they including getting arrested as a real possibility, but even he has to admit that it’s a possibility when Brandon’s in the mood to raise hell.

It’s that, he thinks, that brings Pierre-Luc to him after morning skate. He’s halfway through reassuring the newbie that it’s a good idea to meet up with Brandon to work on face-offs when the man himself appears, ruffling Dubois’ hair and slinging an arm around Cam’s waist.

“I’m so ready fuck the Penguins up,” Cam rolls his eyes and makes a face of mutual suffering at Dubois, who shrugs.

“Hey, at least there aren’t mites around this time.”

 

Coach Tortorella’s tired of talking and they’re tired of hearing him talk, so the pre-game lecture is short. Torts sends them to the ice with a warning—directed less-than-subtly toward Brandon—about unnecessary penalties and not letting the Penguins get inside their heads.

They all listen, and they manage pretty well through the first, but you can only let a fat penguin skate on thin ice for so long before it breaks.

The whole mood of the game changes with Murray’s second period goal. The penguins hit the ice after that with an edge that has the Jackets rocking back on their heels. Brandon lets it all roll off of his shoulders until he can’t anymore.

They’re battling in the corner, fighting hard for the puck right on the boards and Brandon can’t tell whose breath was hot against his neck. He doesn’t know and he doesn’t care, because it doesn’t matter, there was no one on the ice big enough to say _that_ and get away with it. Brandon dropped his gloves, whirls away from the play, and shoves hard at the faceless player behind him.

It took five full seconds for anyone else to realize what was happening. In that time, Brandon introduces the guy’s face to the red paint of the faceoff circle and bloodied the knuckles of his left hand.

At first, he lets the ref drag him toward the penalty box, but when he spots Malkin leaning over the boards he skates away and glides past the Penguin’s bench. It takes the referee three long strides to notice he’s gone.

“Hey Malkin,” Brandon shouts, raising his voice but keeping it low enough to avoid being overheard by the fans in the seats behind the benches, “If you’re going to fuck your Captain, you’d think you’d train the homophobia out of your teammates.”

Brandon only waits around long enough to see Crosby’s face go slack and Malkin lunge before he skates away. The sound of their shouting follows him all the way to the penalty box and when he sits down, Crosby has Malkin by the neck of sweater. It takes every bit of Crosby’s considerable power to hold his ‘A’ still. Brandon takes his two minutes without argument, but curses when Malkin feeds the puck to Cole and it finds the back of the net. He doesn’t look at Tortorella on his way back to the bench and he doesn’t look at Cam. He can’t help but toss an apologetic look toward Bobrovsky as he sprays water over his face and resets.

He ends up on the ice with Crosby halfway through the third and expects the same cold aggression he always gets. Instead, while they’re in the circle waiting for the referee, Crosby drops his voice and leans in close.

“What did he say to you?” Brandon contemplates being an ass for half a second, but the chirp dies on his lips. When he meets Crosby’s eyes, there’s a sadness in them that he isn’t used to seeing.

“It doesn’t matter,” Brandon says, planting his feet and getting set as the ref approaches, “There’s no place for hate like that in the game.”

The puck drops and Crosby’s too stunned to put up a fight.

The time runs down and the buzzers sounds and Brandon’s never been more glad to take a game to overtime in his life. It means he still has time to make up for letting them score. He’s still avoiding meeting Tortorella’s eyes during intermission, but Cam isn’t willing to be ignored. He slides up to Brandon while he’s on the bench and leans in close.

“I don’t care what he said, about me, or you, or us,” Cam’s close, pressed all along Brandon’s side and angled so that his voice doesn’t reach beyond them. “But, make them pay for it.”

Brandon smiles behind his visor and lets himself look over at where Cam’s staring straight out at the ice. He looks angry and Brandon can’t help but find it attractive. He lets himself look until the clock starts and then refocuses on the game. When he goes over the boards with Cam at his side, it’s not his anger that has him pushing for the net. With Cam as his screen, he sends the puck over Murray’s glove and into the back of the net. He’s celebrating before Cam even slams into his side.

 

Tortorella isn’t happy. Brandon knows he isn’t happy. But the excitement of winning and of being the one to win carries him through the post-game media scrum and right up to the moment he gets the two-fingered summons from across the room as he comes out of the showers.

“I’ll be here,” Cam says as he approaches, toweling his hair off and collecting the pieces of his suit. Brandon smiles, foregoes his suit in favor of loose basketball shorts, and trails after Tortorella. When he steps into his office, he leaves the door open. Tortorella looks up and sits back in his chair, the picture of composure.

“What happened?” He says, crossing his legs and folding his hands in his lap.

“It really isn’t worth repeating,” Brandon says, hovering between the door and the chairs in front of the coach’s desk. Tortorella raises an eyebrow and Brandon exhales, blowing all the air out of his lungs in a single rush.

“At least give me a general idea,” the sounds of the room are dying out as the guys leave, but Brandon still looks back to make sure no one is listening before he settles on the arm of one of the chairs.

“They chirped all game,” his voice is low and he’s staring at his knees. “It’s part of playing Pittsburgh and I know that, but he took it too far. Going after Cam was too far,” Brandon doesn’t look up.

“What did you say to Malkin?”

“I told him that if he was going to fuck his Captain, he should make sure his team wasn’t spewing homophobic shit all over the ice.” Brandon brings his eyes up and squares his shoulders. “I took a penalty we couldn’t afford and gave them a point they shouldn’t have had, but I won’t apologize for that and I won’t apologize for setting Malkin off.”

“I wasn’t asking you to,” Brandon tries not to let the surprise show on his face. “You shouldn’t have taken the penalty. I don’t have to tell you that, and you know the consequences of fighting when I tell you not to. But, you also played beautifully for the rest of the game.”

“So?” Brandon prods, hearing that there’s more and too impatient to wait for it.

“So, I’m going to give you two options,” Tortorella unfolds himself and leans forward. “You can either take your punishment and your reward. Or they can cancel out and this can be the end of it. I’ll let you decide.” Tortorella gets up and walks out, hands shoves into the pockets of his slacks. Brandon slides sideways into his chair and stares at the empty office for a long minute, contemplating. When Tortorella returns, he hovers in the doorway.

“So, what’ll it be?” Brandon looks at him and straightens up.

“I took the penalty. The rule has been the same for too long to start changing it. If I take a stupid penalty for fighting or roughing, I take the punishment that goes with it too,” for a second, Brandon thinks Tortorella looks proud. Behind him, someone shifts their weight.

“I brought someone to help with the reward part, if you’re alright with it,” Tortorella steps into his office and gives Cam room to slide around him. Dressed in his suit pants with his undershirt on and his curls rumpled, Cam looks beautiful. Brandon remembers what he looked like on the bench with anger burning in his eyes. Another wash of arousal spreads through his belly.

“He doesn’t mind,” Cam says, leaning against the wall behind Tortorella’s shoulder. “After all, he just started a fight because someone said sucking him off was all I was good for,” Brandon’s mouth falls open and he looks up.

“You heard it,” he accuses. The smile that spreads over Cam’s face is warm and he nods. Tortorella closes the door and rounds his desk. He takes his seat and resumes his relaxed sprawl.

“Would you like to tell him about our arrangement, or should I?” Brandon blushes involuntarily and shifts in his seat.

“Back when I was a Ranger we came up with a system of punishments and rewards so I wouldn’t play so reckless,” Cam nods and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Now it’s only for roughing, fighting, and misconduct penalties.”

“What’s the punishment?”

“My particular favorite is orgasm denial,” Tortorella says, far too satisfied with himself. Cam swallows and shifts, his pants straining slightly over his growing erection. Brandon shifts too, clenching the muscles in his thighs and readjusting himself in his shorts.

“And the reward?” Tortorella smiles.

“Whatever he wants it to be,” the low burn of arousal in Brandon’s belly flares and he swallows a helpless whimper, looking back and forth between them. Cam pushes off the wall and crosses to the chair beside Brandon. He drops a gentle kiss on his lips as he goes and then drops into the chair and settles into a comfortable sprawl.

“Looking forward to it,” is all he says. Tortorella clears his throat and Brandon’s eyes snap to his face. He nods and Brandon rises, stripping out of his shorts and folding to his knees beside his coach’s desk.

“Are you ready?” Tortorella asks, standing and shrugging out of his suit jacket. He folds it over the back of his chair and gets out his keys, unlocking one of the desk drawers and pulling it open.

“Yes, sir,” Brandon’s eyes are locked on the ground in front of his knees. Tortorella nods and unbuttons his shirtsleeves, rolling them up to his elbows.

“Open yourself up,” he says offhandedly, gesturing to the open drawer as he works on clearing the surface of his desk. He sheds his tie as he goes, watching Brandon out of the corner of his eye as he reaches into the drawer and pulls out the lube. Cam’s eyes stay on the broad spread of Brandon’s shoulders as he moves, dropping when he shifts and reaches back to run lube-slick fingers over his hole.

No one says a word for a long time. Tortorella stacks papers and folders, then moves his keyboard and spreads a thick towel over the surface of his desk. Cam does his best to be quiet, shifting in his seat as his pants grow more and more uncomfortable against the bulge of his cock. The only real sound in the room is Brandon, breathing hard and swallowing breathy little moans as he works his fingers in and out of his hole.

“Stop,” Tortorella says after a few minutes of watching. Brandon listens, pulling his slick fingers away and folding his hands in his lap, careful not to touch his cock as he does. “Do I need to check your work, or can I trust you?” Brandon swallows, his whole body shaking.

“You can check, sir, but I’ve been thorough,” Tortorella looks to Cam and runs his thumb over his bottom lip.

“Which view to you prefer?” Cam drags his eyes away from Brandon’s form and takes a second to process the question. He uncurls his fingers and rubs his hands on his thighs.

“I like to see his face,” Tortorella nods and rounds his desk, sinking into the empty chair and spreading his legs to make himself comfortable.

“Up, facing us. Start when you’re ready,” he says when he’s settled. Brandon exhales and gets to his feet, movements stiff from the combination of playing a game and being on his knees. He collects the lube from the floor and grabs a toy out of the drawer before he climbs up onto the surface of the desk.

It’s quiet again at first, just the sounds of their breathing and the sound of Brandon moving around, slicking up the toy and lining it up seem. He works it into himself slowly, biting down on his bottom lip to stifle every pleased little sound that threatens to break free.

“Let me hear you, B,” Cam says, eyes dark and hungry as they rake over the flushed expanse of Brandon’s chest. He looks up and blushes, releasing his lip from between his teeth and sinking down on the full length of his toy. The groan that falls from his lips fills the room and draws a soft ‘fuck’ from Cam. Tortorella shifts in his seat and presses his fingers to his lips. He’s watching with hungry eyes as Brandon works the thick length of the toy in and out of his ass.

“Ring,” the coach says when Brandon’s moans grow louder and more desperate. His voice is rough with disuse and arousal, raised loud enough to be clear over the filthy slide of the toy. Brandon swears and stops moving, reaching back to find the cock ring that’s sitting behind him on the towel. He puts it on and hisses as it snaps into place. When he doesn’t start moving again immediately, Tortorella raises an eyebrow and reaches into his pocket for a small remote. He presses a button and the toy in Brandon’s ass starts to vibrate. He lurches forward, arching his back and pressing down into the sensation as his mouth falls open.

“Jesus Christ,” Cam breathes. He unbuttons and unzips his dress pants to relieve some of the pressure on his cock. Brandon whimpers and his fingers twitch like he wants to reach up and unsnap the ring, but he doesn’t. Instead, he reaches around behind himself and presses the toy deeper, angling it so it brushes his prostate. He lets loose a string of curses when Tortorella turns the setting up.

Brandon’s never quiet, and sex is no exception. He tosses his head back and lets his sounds fill the room, alternating between screwing his eyes shut and watching his audience watch him. The clock on the wall ticks through ten minutes and Tortorella turns the vibrations up higher every two until Brandon’s a shaking mess. There are tears streaming down his face and a brilliant flush spreading down to his belly.

“What do you want your reward to be?” Tortorella asks, shifting in his seat and pressing the palm of his free hand into the bulge of his cock. Brandon groan and rocks his hips back into his hand. Tortorella waits a few seconds for him to respond and then switches off the vibrator altogether, forcing him to pay attention. He repeats the question and Brandon bites down on his lip, hands and body shaking.

“I,” he starts, hesitating.

“Whatever you want,” Tortorella reminds him. He spins the small remote between his fingers while he waits.

“I want you both to cum with me,” he breathes in, “on me.”

“Anything you want,” Cam says, pushing to his feet and peeling his undershirt over his head. Brandon watches with hungry eyes as Cam sheds his pants and boxers and groans when he wraps his fingers around the base of his cock. Tortorella waits until Cam bends forward to lick a thick stripe up the base of Brandon’s to turn the vibrator back on and unzip his own dress pants.

“Cam, I can’t… Oh, G-d, I can’t. I need to… fuck,” he trails off into a wordless groan and runs his fingers through Cam’s hair as he swallows him down. He takes Brandon’s cock until it bumps at the back of his throat and then pulls off with a hollow ‘pop’ so he can look up at Brandon’s face.

“Like this I really don’t have to get on my knees,” he says with a wink. The memory of the words, the fight, and the game come back and Brandon shivers hard. Brandon looks down at where Cam’s hand is sliding over the length of his cock and swears. He balls his hands into fists on his thighs and presses down into the intense vibrations of the toy.

Tortorella gets up and moves to stand beside Cam, one hand working at the thick length of his cock and the other still clutching the remote. Cam brings his free hand up and settles his fingers at the clasp of the cock ring, groaning as his orgasm builds. He looks to Tortorella, eyes dropping to the dark red length of his cock. He raises an eyebrow in question.

“Whenever he’s ready,” Tortorella says, voice low and strained. He leans forward and uses his desk for support as he works his hand in long strokes over his cock.

“Now, please,” Brandon begs, whimpering.

“When I take it off, you have to get down on the floor, okay?” He nods and Cam flicks the clasp open, offering a hand to help him slide down off of the desk and sink to his knees on the hard floor. The toys, the towel, and the lube tumble to the ground with him, but he ignores the clatter. He settles between the two men and looks back and forth between their cocks as he closes his hand around his own and comes over his belly.

“Cam,” he pleads, opening his mouth and licking at the head of Cam’s cock as he shakes through his orgasm. Cam sinks his fingers into the sweat-slicked length of his hand and comes with his name on his tongue, streaking his face. Tortorella groans and comes with him, sending spurts of white across Brandon’s neck and chest as he does.

For a minute, no one says a word as they ride out the final seconds of their orgasms and try to catch their breath. Tortorella recovers first, wiping himself with the towel and tucking himself away while Brandon sags against Cam’s hip.

“I’ll clean up in here if you clean him up,” he says to Cam, collecting the discarded supplies from the floor. Cam nods and tilts Brandon’s chin up, humming to get him to open his eyes.

“Can you walk to the showers?” Brandon blinks a few times and then nods, shifting and letting Cam pull him to his feet.

“Hey Dubinsky,” Tortorella says as they head for the door, their clothes folded over one of Cam’s arms. Brandon turns his head and blinks in acknowledgement. “Stupid penalty, beautiful goal.”

**Author's Note:**

> The homophobic slurs used in this piece are real life, based off of something I heard someone say in a pickup game once. That being said, there's no place in sports (or life) for that type of behavior. If you can play, you can play, and hockey (like everything else) is for everyone.


End file.
